


To Lose and To Regain

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:24:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: To Lose and To RegainAuthor: didzeaseRating: PG-13Word Count: 700A/N: Firstly – I want to apologise for never updating the Maxwell Institution (because it's been what – nearly two months?), as I've been struck with some kind of writer's block, and admittedly, I haven't felt like writing a very long chapter, so I may have been putting it off.Secondly – this is something I haven't tried before. The fic consists of 7 drabbles to be read together, and I have no clue how it worked out. So, feedback is much appreciated! x





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted 22 MAY 2009.

To Lose and To Regain  
  
  
It wasn't like they hadn't tried. Because you can't get anywhere without trying, or working for it, after all.  
  
It was certainly not like it hadn't worked. Because it had, at first anyway.  
  
Or like they hadn't talked about it. Because they had done, often, into the late hours of the nights, and the early hours of the mornings.   
  
It wasn't even like they hadn't really wanted it. Because they did, perhaps even more than anything else, more than the music, more than for the sake of the band – for the sake of love. And, possibly for belonging together.  
  
  
  
No matter what, though - in the end they failed.  
  
From then on, whatever had been, wasn't anymore, and they didn't dare look at each other, or talk to each other reasonably, because they didn't want the old memories to be remembered. Even though they weren't at all so bad.  
  
They avoided each other, while the band broke, came crashing down, and within just a few years everything they had built up with hard work, blood, sweat and tears, had been destroyed for always.   
  
But of all things, their love was affected most.   
  
And there was no place for hope.   
  
  
  
The next year, nothing happened.  
  
Of course- there were songs of hate, but they were dismissed after a retort was given.   
  
They didn't live for hate, though, and there was something to be held up – their pretence maybe, or the wall they both had built around their feelings for one another.  
  
But they didn't meet, they didn't kiss and make up, and though there were words being told about the other parties and still fights to be fought – in the future far from the present in which they lived – nothing was heartfelt.   
  
So between them nothing changed.  
  
  
  
Slowly, as the years moved on, thoughts and memories came back to them in flashes, moments they didn't guard themselves, in dreams. Faces, smiles painted onto them in the genuine joy of youth, and hope, the promise of something else, something bigger, when they finally would become who they really were.  
  
Eyes, nearby on stage, far off during parties, always seeking each other out, always looking for the confirmation of doing something right, something wrong.  
  
And then, the pain, they realised, had been written in the lines that were starting to show on their faces, growing older and still heartbroken.  
  
  
  
Seeking out contact was harder even than the memories coming back.  
  
There were cautious phone calls, one accidental meeting, but still so much more often their lyrics telling the stories of their hearts.   
  
The looks on television were no substitute for locking eyes, though. The letters were far from touching each other, and smelling each other, and hearing one another, singing but via the boxes, playing from vinyl, wasn't real enough.   
  
They wanted to get closer, but were unable. There were new loves who objected, and new obligations taking their time.   
  
But new memories wouldn't, and couldn't replace the old.   
  
  
  
And then suddenly, one day, it was too late.  
  
Too early, too.  
  
The carefully shaped iron that was being buried into flesh, warm and alive but not for long anymore. And the offender that would never be forgiven.  
  
Certainly not by the person who felt a loss, for the second time but infinitely more definitive, right when the contact was building and the first scraps of friendship and good feelings restored.  
  
There came trials, and there were people out in the streets, who openly shared their grief. Posters, and acclamations of love, wishes for peace, burning candles for the lost.  
  
  
  
Because there was the knowledge, that for the years to come – the images and videos would stay, as would the music. The letters that had been written could be re-read, and the phone calls were carefully kept in his memory.   
  
But there wouldn't be replies to his lyrics anymore, his eyes would never be able to seek out the other's again. The letters would eventually lose their scent. The videos would always tell him the same over and over again.  
  
And they would never be able to put everything right, finally the way it was supposed to be again.  
  



End file.
